Once in thousand years
by Sinoritta
Summary: "Who are you?" she managed to utter. Two black perfectly carved eyebrows raised in superiority. "I am called Slytherin, the founder of Hogwarts, school of witchcraft."
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I only play. I am not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

* * *

 **Chapter 1**

Hermione Granger woke up feeling extremely exhausted and sore in her whole body. Her mouth felt parched from thirst, eyelids seemed to be glued together and hardly possible to open. She blinked. A weak moan escaped her mouth as she made the first unsuccessful attempt to lift her limp body from the damp cold ground.

The sun has almost set down, she noticed vaguely, and then raised her arm to protect her oversensitive eyes from orange streams of light. She gasped when her fingertips came in contact with her forehead. Now she new why it was so difficult to open her eyes. There, sticky and thick was _blood_ dripping down her face for quite a while already.

Hermione frowned. A bump of the size of an egg was crowning her head. She winced when she touched it.

"Never better," she thought grimly and attempted to get up again.

She tried to remember what she could possibly have been doing up the hill, near the Forbidden forest. And then it came to her.

"Snape!" She remembered. They were back on the hill to pick up his body. She turned her head towards the way Hogwarts was supposed to lie, but saw nothing. Only dim light and misty gray shadows were opened to her eyes.

What had happened to her? Why was she lying here, alone and covered in blood, with the huge bump on her head? Feeling lost and, she admitted, a bit scared, Hermione made herself to take a few deep calming breaths.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, she heard a loud shout:

"There she is!"

Hermione's head perked up, her brown eyes immediately focusing on multiple strange lights moving in a distance.

"Witch!" she heard.

"Catch the witch!"

"Catch her!"

Tremor overtook her body. She couldn't move.

Emerged as if from underground, a crowed of funnily dressed people advanced on her. Hermione's eyes widened in fear and confusion. Covered from heads to toes in dark long robes, the people, mostly men, were intending, she had no doubt on that account, to hurt her. But who were they?

She didn't have time to think about that, as she was grabbed on the collar of her jumper and roughly pulled on her wobbly legs.

"Here! Eat this you devil's whore!" shouted a crazy looking raunchy woman and then she threw a piece of dry mud into Hermione's face.

Hermione couldn't believe something so tremendous was actually _really_ happening to her until her arms were forcefully wrenched backwards and wrists tightly tied together with a stout rope. She cried painfully when someone poked her on the stomach with a heavy wooden stick, and almost fell on her knees after being slapped across her face.

Spitting blood and forcing back the burning tears, she gritted her teeth and succumbed to the umpteen nagging and painful pushes on her back. It appeared that they were dragging her down the hill. When they neared its mouth she noticed the shining surface of the grey lake and prayed for someone in Hogwarts to come to her rescue.

"Burn her!"

"Burn the witch!"

"Throw her into the fire!"

And here she screamed. Terrified by what they were intending to do to her, Hermione blew all the air out of her lungs and gave out such a loud and horrifying wail that someone near by shouted:

"Shut her dirty mouth or she will bewitch us all!"

" _Where is my wand?"_ She thought franticly, as a dirty rag was immediately stuffed down her throat. She chocked and tried to bite someone's ugly fingers with black nails, but was hit on her stomach again. She bended and tripped and almost fell onto the ground, but the firm grip on the knot of ropes behind her back shoved her upright on her feet again.

Tears burst out of Hermione's eyes.

"Burn her!" the crowed roared and she was dragged forward again.

A small gaunt man threw a stone, which hit her shoulder with a sharp pain of possibly a broken collarbone.

"Kill the witch!"

"Burn her!"

"Devil's whore!"

After being spitted at, knocked down, pushed and thrown mud at, they finally reached what looked like a tall wooden post rooted into the ground. Her hands were cut free, but only to be bound to the dry post.

"Bring more firewood!" ordered a huge one eyed man, with long tangled goatee.

Totally horrified, Hermione started wriggling in a desperate attempt to set her hands free.

"You will go nowhere, you bitch!" said the same man and he threw a thick rope over her body. "You will stay here and burn!" he said directly into Hermione's pale face. He was so close that she could feel his breath on her skin, the disgusting smell of rotten teeth.

Out of everywhere people were bringing branches and bricks of wood. Laying them carefully under her feet, they were smiling and rubbing their hands in happy anticipation.

 _What was wrong with these people?_

They wouldn't want to eat her after frying, right? As funny as the thought was, Hermione couldn't harbour it at all. She was frightened to death, confused and never so close to losing connection with the reality she had been holding onto as at that precise moment.

Harry… Ron...

Where were they?

Would someone rescue her from that nightmare?

Were these medieval people just a part of her sick dream?

It became dark. The sun sat, and the burning lights of the people's torches were casting menacing shadows on the huge pile of firewood surrounding the post.

Surely there would be no one willing to burn an innocent girl alive.

Just as the thought appeared in her head, Hermione felt nauseous. With a shock obvious in her glistering eyes, she stared as a small boy bravely trotted towards her, and added a small branch to her funeral pyre. His mother most fondly patted him on his head. Even in a dream as incomprehensible and wicked as it was, she could never imagine a child participating in a murder. Something was definitely off. Her stomach fell. Everything seemed to be too real.

The same man, who tied her up to the post, appeared in front of her again. This time he held a torch of fire in his hand.

"Die, witch!" he exclaimed, and threw the torch in the very centre of the firewood. The rest of the crowd followed him eagerly, throwing their torches and shouting:

"Die! Die!"

"Kill her!"

"Burn the witch!"

Hermione gave out a cry, but only a strained muffled noise escaped her mouth. Probably thanks to the dry branches or most likely the people's burning hatred, the fire grew up very quickly. In no time it reached her feet and licked her battled trainers.

Hermione screamed again, but that only made her audience even happier.

" _That is not happening…"_ she thought to herself while what was a considerably small fire burst into flames and leveled up with her sweaty and blood covered face.

She screamed again but no one could hear her.

She thrashed and twisted her arms but there was no one to come and rescue her.

She called for wandless magic, but it didn't come out. She should have practiced more. She should have done better than always relying on her wand. The black fumes were clouding around her now, intoxicating her lungs, burning her eyes and rising up into the night.

She hardly noticed her jeans and jumper catching fire. She tried to focus on the brightly lit star strewn sky but the black smokes were clouding the view.

She was going to die, to find her end as every witch was doomed to in the medieval age. And there was no one to save her.

"Move away, you filthy scrum!"

Hermione tried to blink off the tears. Pain clouded her vision. She could hardly see through angry flames feasting on her open flesh. Clashing sound and agonised screams followed. Part of Hermione's consciousness which was still sane despite on unbearable burning pain, recognised the sound of a sword battling.

And then the fire… parted, agonising flames which were burning holes in her skin disappeared and she saw a horse… a huge man on the horse to be precise. And he was stretching his gloved hand to her.

"Hurry, witch!" he sounded highly irritated. As if it was against his wish to take part in this salvage party.

After all that happened to her for the past hour, Hermione couldn't blame him.

"We do not have a millennium, witch! Hurry up!"

She realized that the ropes holding her captive were gone, when a strong muscular arm snaked around her waist and pulled he onto the horse. The shouting around them increased, the footsteps and torches of fire surrounded them, blocking their way. People were desperate to prevent her escape. Cursing under his breath, the man settled Hermione in front of him and put the horse into a gallop. More angry screams followed, but with every second they became more distant. Hermione shifted and untied her mouth. The horse swiftly turned to the right and Hermione couldn't help but to clutch onto the man's clothes. She lifted her eyes, but saw nothing except for the black hair and a hard square jaw. Immediately the man's arms circled around her waist and he shoved her into his broad chest. Sitting on his lap, Hermione's head was hardly reaching his shoulder. How big exactly was her saviour? And who was he? Why they were riding a… _a horse_?

At that precise moment, the animal jumped over a ravine and Hermione's body gave in to pain. She whimpered, her small fingers curling into his frame. His unusually big arms tensed, and although she felt that it was not his intention to be gentle or careful with her, the mad gallop of the horse seized and Hermione's body relaxed against his broad form.

"What is your name, witch?" he asked, his voice quiet but demanding. Hermione winced and yelped when he roughly shook her wounded shoulder.

Upon hearing her cry of pain, the man tried to pull her away, but she clutched on the folds of his jacket, her little body all trembling.

"Hermione," she whispered. "Hermione Granger".

She couldn't see him frowning and pounding over her name.

"What were you doing there?" he asked after a moment, obviously ignoring her discomfort, the burned open flesh of her body and wounded state of her terrified mind.

Hermione gulped and felt nothing but burning pain in her dry throat. She felt like dying from thirst.

"Please…" she moaned. "I was just going to retrieve the headmaster's body… I don't know where all these people came from. "

"Headmaster's?"

Hermione nodded.

"Hogwarts' headmaster."

She saw no point in lying. She already guessed that the man holding her in his arms was a wizard. And he saved her.

" _He might be someone from the Order…"_ she thought, holding onto his body as the horse jumped again. The stranger's broad warm chest was steadily raising and falling, somehow soothing her nerves and chasing away the fears.

Suddenly she felt his big palm on her scull, mercilessly tugging on her hair. Unwillingly she faced her saviour, although she regretted it the very next moment. Not that she had any choice on that matter though. Half-burned and heavily injured, she couldn't possibly protect herself and the crystal grey eyes of the stranger were overwhelmed by fury and abhorrence.

"You, little lying wench!" his trenchant voice whipped her ears. "I _am_ the very same person you are talking about! And I am not any time close to death!"

Hermione gasped. What was that vigorous enraged man talking about?

Have they already appointed a new person to the headmaster's post?

No, that couldn't possibly happen so soon. The school was in ruins, and moreover it was already decided that professor McGonagall was the most suitable candidate for that post.

Hermione forced herself to think but the pounding pain in her head seemed only to increase at her slightest attempt to do so.

"Who are you?" she managed to utter.

Two black perfectly carved eyebrows raised in superiority.

"I am called Slytherin, the founder of Hogwarts school of witchcraft."

Hermione gaped.

Then she blanched.

Gulped.

And blissfully fainted.

"No, you damn won't!" hissed Salazar Slytherin, shaking the girl.

He couldn't believe the chit dared to faint just when he was about to squeeze every bit of truth out her weakened mind.

He cursed, pushed the girl to his chest and nagged the horse to go faster. Soon the lonely Hogwarts' tower came into view, as well as the rest of the school grounds. He didn't risk to apparate them in, since he wasn't sure the girl would survive it in her pitiful condition. Not that he was feeling any compassion. He sneered as he looked at her down his nose, wondering why the sound of his name made her black out.

A quick revealing spell proved that she was indeed… hurt, and to his surprise badly.

Helga Hufflepuff will patch her up. He didn't want to associate himself with the witch of no origin. And he decided that that is what she was. A homeless orphan. A mudblood, capable of nothing but a tiny splash of magic to amaze people and then to be burnt, as he was sure, all mudbloods deserved.

Detestation towards her weak and vulnerable state overwhelmed Salazar and he put the horse into a fierce gallop. First he wished to deliver the girl to Hogwarts and then, his lips curled; he is going to dispatch her.

* * *

 _Let me know what you think._


	2. Chapter 2

Helga Hufflepuff was proud to claim herself an expert in what she knew, the Healing Art. She was the best in portion brewing, and had a deep fascination in herbs. There was no wound the witch could not heal, no damage brought to body beyond her abilities to cure. She was the one magical people called "Healer", and the very same "Witchdoctor" rumoured about.

Nonetheless, Helga Hufflepuff shook her head in disapproval upon examining the bushy haired girl. Rescued and brought to the safety of the castle by Salazar Slytherin himself, and now lying there motionlessly in the narrow bed.

Hermione, was the girl's name; a skinny little thing with a heart shaped face, pointy shoulders and a huge mane of untameable hair. Her skin was pale and spotless but for a few peculiar scars, the most remarkable of which was a slash across her chest, forming a long purple line down to the left side of her belly.

Helga Hufflepuff raised her wand purposely over the slightly bulging seam and soon enough, was forced to admit the inevitable and most discouraging truth. Whoever brought upon the girl that grieving injury, was definitely a well-skilled in dark incantations wizard. Helga frowned and stepped aside. It was unusual to encounter something she was unable to deal with. That made the young lady Hermione even more intriguing.

"A lady, indeed," Helga Hufflepuff muttered and as a woman of great experience, she carried no doubt in that respect.

Despite the layers of dirt and soot covering the bruised skin, Hermione had no trace of calluses on her palms and feet. Her pink-skinned feet were soft, tender and delicate. Those feet could not have been possibly shoved into heavy boots or exposed to cold weather. Hermione Granger's petit body looked fragile enough to be snapped in halves by the slightest blowing of the winter wind. There was no doubt that, the girl knew no labour.

And so Helga, in spite of Salazar's snide "filthy beggars" remarks, no longer called into question the girl's ancestry. Helga Hufflepuff fairly concluded that Hermione Granger was a presentable and well-educated lady, from a respectable family.

Helga easily drew the most common picture of what could have happened to Lady Hermione that she ended up in such a pitiful state and at their mercy. Those could have been the usual strange and mysterious things Hermione might have been ignorantly involved in. The unfortunate signs of uncontrollable magical abilities, discovered by non-magical people, possibly even family members.

" _Did they banish her?"_ Helga mussed, as she gently spread a healing balm over the girl's burns. _"Did they disinherit her?"_

Upon finishing tending to Lady Hermione's needs, Helga covered her body with a thin blanket and left the chamber for a short rest. Dawn was approaching and she had two teaching classes first thing in the morning.

The witch smiled imagining the amount of questions her students were going to attack her with. Lady Hermione's shocking appearance shook everyone off their daily routine. But what troubled her more was that Salazar Slytherin insisted on questioning Hermione as soon as she was awake.

Helga sighed heavily. It might be of help to the girl if she, Helga, would be present during the _interrogation_. Although, Helga doubted that her presence could be of any essential help, except for some psychological support. The witch hoped that Hermione would have nothing to hide, as she could hardly name anything more provoking to Salazar Slytherin than the concealed truth and secrets wrapped in a guarded silence or worse… lies.

Hermione stirred in her bed. She heard the door shut with a heavy thud and that very instant her eyes flew open. For a few minutes, she simply stared into the darkness, thoughts buzzing in her mind like an orchestra of bees. It was not difficult pretending to be asleep. Her body felt stiff, numb and senseless due to the many potions the woman forcefully fed her with. The old witch had a habit of quietly muttering under her nose – incantations, potion names, and most importantly her point of view on everything. That was helpful. It assured Hermione that she indeed had travelled in time and hadn't gone nuts as she suspected.

Hermione blinked and tried to move either of her stiff, turned-into-a-pair-of-bricks arms. The task was not easy but after what seemed like ten minutes of panting, moaning and struggling, tears glistering in her eyes, she managed to stand up on her wobbly legs.

She needed clothes, but there was none. With the growing feeling of dread and helplessness, she grabbed the gray blanket from the bed and wrapped it twice around her trembling body.

"What am I going to do?" she said into the darkness, her voice barely a whisper.

Hermione looked around. The room in which she was placed was large and spacious. Pale moonlight shone through the three enormous windows upon two more beds and a few crooked stools near the dark stone wall. But it was the view from the window that caught Hermione's attention. Warily she stepped forward. What she saw left her breathless. There were no alleys, or professor Sprout's green houses, no benches under the trees, where the students spend their free time between the classes. The Hogwarts' grounds looked neglected and the Forbidden Forest seemed to be closer, stretching its thickness and menacing threats to a proximity of a hundred meters.

Hermione's lips twitched into a small smile. Draco Malfoy would have peed his pants, had he been forced to enter _this_ forbidden forest. Not that she would be willing to go there herself any time soon. Hermione wondered what the castle itself looked like at this time. Curiosity seemed to have temporarily assuaged her fears.

Hermione's gaze fell on the valley down the hill, where Hagrid's cabin was supposed to stand. She bit her lower lip and stopped suppressing the tears. How could she be interested in the view outside, if she didn't even know how she happened to travel so far back in time? About a thousand years backward.

She wondered if any of the exciting Time Turners in the future could transport anyone that far. She was sure about a few hours, possibly days, but most definitely not centuries! She seriously doubted that her teachers would ever have entrusted her with the Time Turner, if they had been aware of the danger of being lost in time. That couldn't be the Time Turner. Besides, Hermione couldn't remember having one in her possession since her third year at Hogwarts. How could she even? And what for? Hermione shook her head. She honestly couldn't remember anything at all after Mr Weasley and she, went to retrieve professor Snape's body. The lump on her heard was as prominent as before, for the smallest exception that it no longer pained. Could it be that she hit her head and lost her memories?

Deep in her thoughts, Hermione continued staring outside in disbelieve, despair and bitter tears clouding her vision. It was that moment when a dark hidden-in-shadows figure of a man finally decided to move. The chilly grey eyes of Salazar Slytherin lay transfixed on Hermione's slender, half-exposed back. His dark eyebrows furrowed as he drank in the sight with a bothering feeling of unease.

She looked smaller than he remembered. Her bare shoulders and thin long arms were pale and fair, skin shinning like a pearl in the gracing light of the moon. Curly brown hair reaching her lower back in knots and tangled strands. It was the colour of pure honey, glistening in shiny waves.

Salazar's jaw clenched.

He made a determined step forward intending to startle the girl and break the enchanting allure. But she didn't move. Unaware of his presence, Hermione continued gazing at the dark landscapes at the foot of Hogwarts' castle with a curious surprise in her almond eyes.

Salazar couldn't help but wonder what colour they were. The girl let out a small sigh and lowered her eyes. She was thinking about something unpleasant, Salazar was sure, as her eyes lost the gleam of unusual, but certainly witnessed by him, spark of the insatiable curiosity.

Salazar peered into her profile, looking for mischief or any signs of a foe. Finding none, he could not restrain a growl of frustration which at last broke through the girl's mysterious demeanour.

With a muffled yelp, Hermione spun around. Her eyes wide and fearful when she recognised the giant male figure menacingly looming over her. Salazar Slytherin was dressed in loose black tunic over a white linen shirt and tight woollen pants the same colour. The tunic was girdled at the waist and reached his knees. Unlike the shirt, it was short sleeved and trimmed with a silver braid. Fastened to his hip was a long sword sheathed in leather.

Hermione raised her eyes and was met with a cold silver scrutinizing glare.

"Mister… _Sly…the…rin_ …" she mumbled stammering on every syllable.

" _She probably meant "Master"_ _，_ _"_ he thought scowling at her and then asked:

"I trust you are feeling better?"

Hermione shuddered. His voice was deep and husky, with a prominent note of thundering dominance over everyone and everything.

She nodded reluctantly, not trusting herself to speak again. Salazar looked at her suspiciously. What was wrong with this girl? Why wasn't she blushing, squealing, and running away to conceal her nudity from his ravenous stare?

Minx!

He continued looking at her intently, with his narrow eye slits.

Hermione shivered, her hold onto the blanket tightened. She bit her lower lip, made a tiny step backwards and then raised her chin defensively.

Salazar forgot what he wanted to ask. He found himself completely lost and out of words when the light brown eyes of the richest cinnamon firmly took in his invading features. Those eyes were stunning! Framed by thick curled lashes intertwined at the corners. They were burrowing intently into the depths of his tainted soul, wrenching his very heart and surprisingly… soothing.

Salazar backed away. Fury immediately filled his brain. Salazar Slytherin was fleeing from a pair of brown eyes? That would never happen!

Hands clenched into fists as he stepped even closer, forcing the girl to stumble backwards. He wanted to strangle her for daring to look at him with those magnifying defiant eyes.

"You are to listen carefully to every word I am going to say now, girl. Otherwise, Merlin my witness, my own hands will see to your end. "

The girl nodded again, her wide eyes instantly loosing the defensive fire.

"I am Salazar Slytherin, the founder of… this school. You are to obey every word of mine or I'd feed you to werewolves."

Hermione neither moved nor dared to breathe.

"In a week from today, I will decide your fate. If you are deemed worthy of studying magic, you are to stay in the grounds and learn. If not-" he paused, breathing hard. He seemed to have a short fight with himself before continuing. "You are to be appointed to other… duties."

Hermione blinked. Her lips twitched, as they always did when she was about to ask a question, but again… she didn't dare.

"Is that understood?" he asked quietly after a significant pause.

Hermione nodded and he stepped away. When he was a few inches away, Hermione felt as if a mountainous load had been shoved off her shoulders. She could finally breathe again.

He continued staring at her though, forcing Hermione to lower her eyes to his black knee-length covered-in-dirt boots. This encounter was as scary and unsettling as Salazar Slytherin himself who was but a whisper away.

Hermione wished she was dressed. That would have given her some confidence. She could not feel shy or embarrassed at this moment because the encounter with Slytherin was too shocking for her to brood over such trifles. But on the other hand, her inner precautious self-warned her sheepishly, not against the most powerful wizard of all times, but against a _man_ he was. Hermione raised her head and met his gawp and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze. That seemed to bring the man into his senses. He waved his hand abruptly and a pile of neatly folded robes appeared on a stool near her bed.

"You are to wear _these_ _，_ " he ordered and in three giant steps left the chamber. For some time, Hermione stood still, staring at the vast space his impaling form had been occupying just a few seconds ago. Then slowly she turned her head towards the clothes.

She'd better be dressed before another more shocking encounter. Although she doubted that anyone in that timeline could be scarier and more intimidating than Salazar Slytherin, she decided against giving anyone else a chance to gaze at her half naked body. She hurriedly put on the strange silky garments. All this time, she was unaware of the grey scrutinising eyes fixated on her exposed forms from the dark.

When a week later Hermione Granger entered the former Great Hall, she was not at all surprised by the rise of fluttering murmurs and penetrating stares everyone, including the founders of Hogwarts welcomed her with. Hermione didn't have a chance to get someone's approval on her appearance. But she knew she looked decent and probably beautiful in the long robes of dark periwinkle. She had to admit that Salazar Slytherin had a good taste, concerning the outer attire. In the pile of clothes he left for her the other night, she found a long chemise of linen with a low neck and short sleeves. Over it, as Hermione guessed, came a tunic, the same shape as chemise. It covered Hermione from neck to feet and had long, tight sleeves. That tunic was of dark periwinkle colour, trimmed with wide strips of golden braid at the neck, wrists and round the hem. The last garment of beige colour left her in doubts for some time. She couldn't decide whether she should wear it or not, for her first dinner in the Great Hall. It looked similar to the tunic, but shorter with shorter sleeves. As nervous as Hermione was before the upcoming parade of hers, she decided to put it on.

Now that she was standing in the middle of a staring medieval crowd, Hermione felt overdressed. The air in the hall was warm and welcoming. The sweet aroma of well cooked dishes made her mouth water. Hastily she circled a few grand round tables with four or five students by each, and at last, found an unoccupied chair. The unpleasant feeling of being continuously in the centre of attention was unnerving and she almost tripped over the hem of her robe. Squaring her shoulders, Hermione walked towards the unoccupied chair with only girls at the table. Later, when she had time to survey her surroundings, she noticed that their sitting arrangements were not a simple coincidence. Girls and boys were indeed dining separately, which shouldn't have been surprising for her, considering the century she was now living in. As Hermione sat down and arranged her robes, she felt the cool familiar eyes of Salazar Slytherin scrutinising her frame. She raised her chin and tried to compose her unsettled nerves. Determined to ignore curious and indignant stares from every corner of the hall, Hermione took a sip of scolding black tea from an enormous mug, her thoughts drifting far from the tumult she had caused with her arrival.

"You are Lady Hermione Granger?" asked the girl with the shinning black hair combed in a form of a crown.

Hermione gave a reluctant nod. The girl on her left beamed.

"You have been treated for a week!" she continued. "Have all the burns come off your body?"

The other three girls' faces lit up in curiosity.

"Almost."

Hermione didn't want to go into details about anything at all with the residents of the medieval Hogwarts, but she also didn't want to appear rude.

"Just a few burns on my shins are left," she added, helping herself with a large piece of warm bread.

"Oh, I am sorry," said another girl in a squeaky voice. "Have you _really_ been caught?"

"Yes…" exhaled Hermione nibbling on her bread and wondering what kind of future was awaiting her.

"For your information, we all saw you!" the same girl went on and Hermione lifted her head to face her. The girl had carrot like hair, almost orange by color, and her accent seemed to be slightly… Scottish.

"I am Melinda McWeazl"

 _McWeazl?_

Hermione stared dumbfounded at the girl's freckles.

 _Weasley?_

Could it really be?

"Nice to meet you," Hermione mumbled, tea and bread instantly forgotten.

She was hardly aware that the other girls followed suit in presenting themselves. She just couldn't stop staring.

Come to think of it, Ron's hair was slightly darker and his skin was not that pale. His eyes were bright blue, and the Scottish girl in front of her had the eyes of a dark green moor.

But still… _McWeazl?_

Hermione dropped her eyes and squeezed the mug.

"You were telling you saw me…" she reminded Melinda.

"Oh, yes!" Melinda smiled and went on. "We were all having a lesson on the opposite side of the lake. Lady Ravenclaw was most displeased at the interruption of her lesson, I must say. But she summoned Lord Slytherin and then escorted us back to the castle."

"I see…" Hermione bit her bottom lip.

If only she had realized straight away that somehow she had been transported through time, she would have never allowed herself that slip of tongue. Telling her real name to Salazar Slytherin was the gravest mistake she had ever done in her life. She could only guess what kind of impact that piece of information would have on her future. Having Salazar Slytherin breathing down her very neck was indeed most discouraging.

"That might have been so romantic!" the girl on her right exclaimed in delight. "To be saved by Lord Slytherin!" Nobody noticed Hermione's scowl. "Have you both talked at all?"

"Not much," Hermione lied. "I passed out immediately."

"Oh, right."

Hermione could see that they were disappointed. But the least she wanted was for them to have any kind of side thoughts. Hermione had already decided to become as invisible and unremarkable as it could possibly be, considering her surroundings and the lack of knowledge about medieval age.

"Look!" the fourth girl with golden hair and sparkling tiara jumped on her chair. "Sir Adam!"

Hermione turned her head towards the entrance and saw a tall, aristocratically built young man with remarkable pale skin and hair so fair it reminded her of Malfoys. She suppressed a shudder and returned to her breakfast.

"Isn't he gorgeous?" one of the girls asked in a dreamy voice and suddenly all of them burst into stupid giggles. Apparently girls giggle at all times.

Hermione wriggled uncomfortably on her chair and gave them a weak smile. Her facial appreciation of Sir Adam's attributes might have been passable and in a moment, the girls continued their energetic chattering.

That gave Hermione an opportunity to relax and, while sipping her tea, she sunk deep into her thoughts. She couldn't do much without her wand. That she considered to be the main obstacle to her salvation. The tiny possibility of her being thrown through time without her wand, for a second flashed through Hermione's mind. The next second, she discarded it. She couldn't possibly let go of her wand, unless she was forced to. Setting on this thought, Hermione decided to search for her wand next day at dawn. She looked around and here it hit her.

She didn't see anyone carrying a wand! Come to think of it, Hermione didn't see any of the students using magic, or possessing a magic attribute, such as a wand. She frowned at that indeed strange discovery. Hermione thought hard. There were also some other things that didn't go unnoticed. The clothes she wore during the bonfire disappeared as well as her other personal things. She wondered if Helga Hufflepuff disposed of them and if her beaded bag was among those things. A tiny hope that her wand together with the beaded bag might still have been lying on the hill struck her with the force of a Hogwarts express. She literally had to stop her legs from running. Now that her mind was set, Hermione's thoughts streamed into another direction.

She wondered if she made the right choice to hide the truth of her origin from the founders and mainly from Salazar Slytherin. The latter was already suspicious on her account. But that was the nature of his wicked mind. Hermione doubted that he would trust her more if he discovered the truth. Most probably she would find herself stuck in this century forever, feeding him with enormous quantity of priceless information of how to dominate over the world and live forever.

A tremor went through her body. She felt exhausted and scared. She really wanted to retrieve her wand. At least to conjure a pair of clean soft knickers she needed so much. She felt her cheeks turning pink from embarrassment. She needed knickers and bras.

"I heard he is engaged to Lucinda!"

"No. That couldn't be true!"

"Yes-yes, I heard so!" that was Melinda talking. "After all", she lowered her voice to a whisper, "it is the only way for her after being discovered."

"You don't really believe in that rumour, do you?"

Melinda shook her head.

"I am positive that she was involved in an affair with _him_. I saw her coming out of his chambers half-dressed and all crying, remember?"

"You'd better keep your mouth shut about that matter!" hissed the black haired girl, and unintentionally attracting Hermione's attention. "We wouldn't want to put a shade on Lord Slytherin's reputation, would we?"

Hermione frowned in disbelieve. Melinda snorted, very unladylike and ignored the warning.

"It's only reasonable!" she said. "Every girl he gets himself involved with disappears shortly, presumably due to a successful marriage."

"As you just said, those are just _girls_ , Lady Melinda. They have no origin, no family and no name. Personally, I think they got lucky being married at all. As for us " _Ladies_ "..." there was a significant pause. "I think it is more than disgraceful to discuss Lord Slytherin's affair with that… _girl_ … during breakfast. We might as well loose our appetite."

The ladies felt silent. Melinda McWeazl's cheeks flashed pink. Hermione looked at the black haired girl more attentively. She was not the one to cross swords of power with. She seemed dominant and superior and… Hermione's eyes went wide. She recognised her! That girl was Helena, Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter. And although Hermione remembered her only as the Lonely Lady's ghost, she couldn't be mistaken.

For Merlin's sake what did she get herself into? And most importantly _how_? A gloomy foreboding clawed onto her heart. She felt close to tears. How was she supposed to survive in this world?

"He is looking!" said one of the girls in a hushed and excited whisper.

Hermione indeed felt it at once. It was as if ten fire daggers pierced through her back.

"He does!" exclaimed Melinda, without any attempt to suppress her dislike toward… Salazar Slytherin.

Hermione gulped her tea and tried to pretend indifferent, blind and possibly dead.

But _he_ was still _looking_. She felt his eyes on her back like a scolding pan. The girls at the table were getting more excited within every second. They were about to start an argument when Hermione felt his gaze move sideways. She exhaled with relief. Hermione didn't know what distracted him, as she couldn't find enough courage to turn and face the founder's table, but she took it as a lucky omen to disappear into the medical chambers.

No one prevented her from leaving the Great Hall. She sensed many eyes cautiously following her steps as she slowly made her way towards the massive doors. Was the Hall that full when she entered it half an hour ago? Hermione was about to praise herself for not tripping over the hem of her dress when she heard a voice calling for her attention.

"Girl! Girl!"

Rooted to the spot, Hermione couldn't move.

 _Girl?_

Rowena Ravenclaw approached Hermione and gracefully inclined her head toward the door on the opposite side of the hall, behind the Founder's dinning table.

"We are about to start discussing your future," she said with a clear distaste in her tone. "Follow me."

Hermione was silent all the way through the hall and down to the dungeons. She wondered why their office was there and immediately thought of Salazar Slytherin. Could it be that they all were under his lead? Hermione felt doomed.

They stopped in front of the black wooden door and Rowena knocked. Precisely three times.

"Enter." The voice undoubtedly was Slytherin's.

Bracing herself together, Hermione took a deep breath and entered the chamber. Fear gripped her with a heightened intensity. What if they decide to throw her out of the school? How would she ever return home? She needed Hogwarts and the knowledge within it. Hermione forced deep breaths, steadied her breathing and lifted her head.

Four pairs of scrutinizing calculative eyes were eyeing her with curiosity (from Gryffindor's side), and suspicion (from everyone else.)

Hermione shifted uncomfortably, clutching to the long skirt of her exquisite gown.

"Girl," Rowena said and for a moment Hermione felt herself falling under the enchantment of the beautiful sparkling diadem the witch wore on her head. She shook her head and forced herself to listen. "You are here to be given the privilege of the knowledge of magic. Tell us. Do you find yourself worthy?"

Hermione's throat became dry. A clear revulsion was written across Rowena Ravenclaw's fair features. Salazar Slytherin was standing not far behind, his face concealed in shadows. Godric Gryffindor's eyebrows were furrowed and he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the table. Only Helga Hufflepuff seemed to bear a calm and wise countenance.

Hermione nodded.

"Yes, I deem myself worthy of the knowledge that Hogwarts can provide."

"So be it," pronounced Godric. He pulled his hat off his head and strode toward Hermione.

Hermione gaped at the Hat in his hand.

 _Could it be?_

He put the hat on her head and stepped aside.

For one painfully long moment, Hermione desperately thought that she might have been mistaken. But then, through the silence of the room, a tiny familiar voice whispered in her ear.

" _Tell me, little girl, why do I see myself in your head?"_

Hermione's eyes widened. She bit her lip.

" _Vey strange,"_ continued the hat quietly. _"It seems like you know me and you also know what I intend to do."_

Hermione pushed the reply through her mind.

" _You are about to sort me into the right House."_

" _The right…_ _ **House**_ _?"_ a surprised voice inquired. _"But there are no Houses in Hogwarts."_

Hermione stopped breathing. Out of the hem of the hat she noticed Helga and Godric exchanging surprised glances.

" _There are, where I come from,"_ Hermione replied hesitantly.

" _And that would be…"_ asked the hat only mildly curiously, although Hermione felt a hint of persistence in its voice.

" _I come from year 1998 and I need your help… I need to stay in Hogwarts to find the way to travel back… home."_

" _A time traveller,"_ the hat sang amused. It was silent for a while.

" _And in your …time, I sort children into… Houses?"_

" _Yes!"_ Hermione thought eagerly. _"There are four Houses named after the founders of Hogwarts. Every year you sort the kids into the appropriate Houses. Although…"_ she paused.

" _Yes?"_ the hat asked eagerly.

" _You call everyone to unite. You are… You say we are not different from each other. "_

Hermione concentrated and pushed the memories of the sortings she remembered forward.

The hat fell silent for a very long time. When it finally spoke again, its tiny voice was quivering.

" _I see,"_ it said. _"Miss Granger, I am most grateful for the most enlightening conversation I have had so far. I shall decide how to prevent the unsuccessful events the future holds. After all, I have one thousand years to think."_

Hermione gulped and shook her head vigorously.

" _Oh no, we are not supposed to meddle with time! Bad things happen. Bad things!"_

" _As for your persona,"_ the hat continued, playing deaf to the girl's worried pleas. _"I agree with my future self. Ravenclaw would be a good master for you. However…"_ Hermione held her breath. _"I didn't place you there, did I?"_

" _N-no…I-I asked you to put me into Gryffindor… and… you did."_

" _That's what I thought."_

The hat's discontent voice made Hermione tremble in apprehension.

" _Gryffindor was good for me,"_ she thought and decided to make a slight push. _"But given the circumstances, I think this time Hufflepuff will be most…"_

The Hat interrupted her meek attempt to influence its decision almost instantly.

" _Neither of the masters you have mentioned would be of help to you in this time. As I see in your thoughts you always knew that. The only wizard in possession of the knowledge you seek is Slytherin."_

Hermione stiffened, her eyes rounded in fear.

" _No!"_ she thought desperately. _"I am not a pureblood! I am not worthy of… Slytherin House. I am mud-blood! I can not be chosen to be taught by Salazar Slytherin!"_

" _Now that I hear your pleas I start doubting my future self's sanity. Gryffindor's first request was to accept only the brave in heart."_

"I am brave!" whimpered Hermione, not realising she was speaking out loud.

" _We shall see about that,"_ replied the hat with a frightening determination.

" _Hufflepuff!"_ Hermione begged inside her head. _"I am not a pureblood! If Slytherin finds out, he will kill me and destroy you!"_

" _What he doesn't know, will not harm him. Secrets are meant to be kept. We will take the risk."_ It finished in a mocking voice. _"We_ _ **are**_ _brave,_ _ **aren't**_ _we?"_

Hermione could hardly think straight. Fear clouded her vision.

" _Please, don't do it. I will find the way back to my time all by myself. I do not need his help. I… Please…"_

" _Why,_ _ **Miss**_ _Granger, are you so terrified to take the potion of your own brew?"_

Confused, Hermione only managed to gasp a weak "What?" before the hat sternly continued:

" _Why_ _ **Miss**_ _Granger, did you show me the future? Wasn't it a sly attempt to persuade me to accept your choice?"_

"I…" and she was interrupted again.

" _You lied to the Masters concealing the truth!"_ the hat stated.

" _Only because if they knew about the future it could change the course of events! We must not meddle with time! It's dangerous!"_

" _Oh, but using this knowledge here and now for your own benefit is acceptable?"_

Hermione's legs started to tremble. A panicked cry left her lips:

"Please! Please! He won't like it!" and then silently. _"He will kill me!"_

" _Master Slytherin does have opinions. But he is young and might as well be persuaded."_

" _What… What are you saying?"_

" _Apart from this little issue, I see no reason_ _to_ _depriv_ _e_ _him of a company of "the brightest witch of her age". Therefore…_ SLYTHERIN. _"_

The hat announced its choice so firmly and decisively that everyone except for Slytherin shuddered.

But none of them had the slightest idea that the resoluteness of the hat's voice was just an attempt to persuade itself into thinking that it made the right decision. Apart from Salazar Slytherin being the only wizard who could possibly help Hermione Granger to return to her time, the hat had its own cowardly reasons.

The truth was that the hat got scared and confused. It couldn't understand why it allowed the children of the future to decide for themselves where they wished to study. Was it so desperate to unite the Houses that it dismissed every single rule in sorting apart from "pure" or "dirty" blood origins?

The hat felt devastated. Anger, rivalry, hatred, wild obsession for dominance and power… War… Pain… The hat couldn't peek deeper into Hermione Granger's memories. Fear was coiling around her soul, trapping the girl's heart into death's embrace and ruling over her emotions. However, the hat saw the end and the beginning. Everything from the girl's memories to her fearfulness was coming to one crucial point.

Salazar Slytherin.


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I only play. I am not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

* * *

Chapter 3

The founders of Hogwarts were arguing in hushed vigorous whispers, but the loudest was Gryffindor's tending to raise voice. Lady Ravenclaw looked tense and utterly speechless. She pursed her thin lips, visibly restraining herself from any comment. Helga Hufflepuff on the other hand didn't preoccupy herself with the etiquette code, but she was most certainly losing the battle.

Salazar Slytherin was looming over the three of them with the threatening scowl on his face. His tone was gruff, the intensity menacing, and for once Hermione was grateful she couldn't make out anyone's words. Whatever he said however infuriated little plump Helga Hufflepuff even more. She snapped at Slytherin and turned to Gryffindor for support. Godric shrugged and shook his head.

Furiously flushed Helga pointed her slightly crooked finger at the sorting hat, which was lying motionlessly on the table. Hermione was sure the witch pronounced the words "absurd" and "mistake", before she faced Slytherin again.

A few more tantalizing minutes passed while Hermione was waiting quietly in the centre of the room. She felt calmer now that the sorting was finished. Her thoughts drifted back to the Hat's words and its offensive tone. Was it true that only Salazar held the key to her salvation? She eyed Helga purposely, and then her eyes moved from Gryffindor to Rowena Ravenclaw, and finally landed on Salazar Slytherin. The greatest and most fearful wizard of all time. The one who despised muggleborns and started the decades of blood detestation against her kind.

Hermione didn't want his help. However did she really have a choice? She was stuck in the time of kings and peasants, swords and knight tournaments. She had not a knut in her pocket and was sure that even if she wasn't destitute, it wouldn't be much help considering the insignificant position women carried in the society and men's barbaric views. That was the time when fortresses' got conquered and women handed over as trophies to the winners. Marriages at sixteen and even thirteen were considered right if it concerned a certain lady and a profit. Where there was no gain, the possible future of a little girl was scary to think of.

Hermione shuddered, all at once repulsed, scared and horrified by her own fate. She must remain within the castle! At any cost, she had to ensure her position at Hogwarts and find the way to travel back to the future.

Hermione was so engulfed into unhappy thoughts that she didn't notice when the hushed discussion carried by the founders had come to a significant halt. She didn't feel them eyeing her warily, as if she was a curious puzzle, or in lady Ravenclaw's case, a nasty obstacle.

"Child," Hermione almost heard her heart sinking deeper into the pit of despair. Her long periwinkle robe brushed the stone floor, as she hesitantly stepped forward. With a nasty feeling of growing fear, she watched lady Ravenclaw speak.

"We have come to an agreement, that the sorting hat's judgment in your particular case is… questionable." She threw a cold look toward Gryffindor, who was standing cross-armed and solemn near the wall.

"As it happens, lord Slytherin does not have any female charge in his care, as of yet. Neither does lord Gryffindor; which is why we required time to discuss your situation." She paused trying to compose herself. "Lady Hufflepuff here, wishes to accept you as her ward, although," her nostrils flared in indignation. "Until this time the sorting ritual has never proved us wrong and so the final decision is up to you."

Hermione gulped. She couldn't feel more grateful towards Helga Hufflepuff for arguing her case, but… Hermione's eyes darted toward Slytherin's enormous form. Was it true? Was he the only one in possession of the key to her salvation?

Hermione lowered her eyes, thinking of a reply that could be acceptable and understandable by the medieval society.

"It would be an honor if lord Slytherin allowed me to attend his classes, but… I am sure you agree that being placed in lady Hufflepuff's care would be more … proper, given that she is a woman."

Hermione wasn't chanced to see any of the three founder's reactions. Helga Hufflepuff lunched forward, putting her protective arm on Hermione's shoulder and gently leading her to the door.

"You have made a wise decision, child," she said loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Feel free to attend my classes as well, should you wish of course."

"You are very kind," Hermione mumbled, trying not to stumble over her long robe.

"Not at all, darling girl, not at all." Helga hurried to reply, as she closed the massive door, shutting out the obvious stunned silence in the chamber they had just vacated and led her down the dimly lit hall.

"You've made a right decision. Lord Slytherin is curious about you, even more so, since the hat placed you in his care. Foolish piece of rag!" Helga huffed and shook her head. "To extract you completely out of Slytherin's reach at this moment would mean to push him into battling mood, which suffice it to say, no one wishes to witness, least of all, you, I assure you. " She stopped abruptly and grabbed Hermione's hand. "I saw the scars on your body," she said in a hushed whisper. "I am not prying, as I am aware how painful the past can be for our minds and bodies, but I shall warn you that you are never to show lord Slytherin the one on your forearm." Her eyes softened. "That would put you in danger, darling girl, no matter the truth."

Hermione swallowed and gave a sharp nod.

"I understand."

"Good. I am not asking if what is written there is genuine, but I want you to know that you can rely on me with whatever secret you behold. Now, I will show you to your chamber. You are to stay with lady McWeasl. Your bed will be placed there shortly."

"Thank you."

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Hermione twirling her head and trying to recognize Hogwarts she knew in the ancient stones and dark passages. But nothing seemed the same in this century. The gloomy walls carried no paintings, candles weren't floating in the air, instead heavy torches stuck out of walls and somewhere deep within the castle she could hear the chains gnashing. Thick cobwebs were hanging in the corners and although Hermione didn't notice any spiders, she decided against investigating.

As they went up another set of narrow stairs and proceeded in the dark lightless corridor, Helga spoke:

"I am afraid I must ask you several questions, child." They entered a round chamber with a huge domineering fireplace and four tall short windows. There was only one single bed near the covered-in-bright-tapestry wall and a huge wide-open chest full of robes.

"Yes, Lady Hufflepuff?" Hermione inquired, watching another bed appearing at the opposite wall. She tried to feign a surprise and by the pleased look on Helga's face, succeeded.

"Magic is wonderful," Hermione murmured avoiding the matron's direct stare.

"Of course it is!" Helga smiled, despite a thoughtful cringe between her dark eyebrows.

"There hasn't been a new student in master Slytherin's care for three years," the witch finally elaborated, scrutinising Hermione's features and making the girl feel uneasy. "I must say his students went far beyond your abilities to catch up with the course at your present state of magic. My classes however are divided into two levels, one of which is still low enough for you not to feel overwhelmed and strained with studies."

Hermione hid her irritation behind a polite smile. She had yet to discover the overload of studying pressure in her life. How could there be any _study_ pressure, when even the exams were always relaxing?

"Now, straight to the matter," Helga looked intently at Hermione's solemn profile. "Do you have a patron?"

Hermione gave a slow, much needed for recovering her senses… blink.

"No-o," she replied slowly, inwardly wondering if she should have hid behind the powerful back of a non-existing stranger. But her worries were immediately discarded as soon as Helga continued her questioning.

"Any relatives, who could attend to your needs?"

Hermione shook her head: "I don't have anyone. Not as of this moment anyway."

"Understood," said Helga but Hermione could feel her lingering suspicion. "Hogwarts was opened not so long ago, and since then, has always come to aid those in need of help."

Hermione bit her lip, fighting a rash of tears. Her words! Oh, they were so familiar!

"Although Hogwarts encourages wizards to pay for the knowledge we provide, however, in a case like yours, the school will require you to work in payment for your studies."

Hermione looked at Helga, her eyes clouded with unshed tears, confusion and a myriad of contradictive thoughts.

"What kind of work would you want me to do?"

"We shall see to it in due time," Helga replied kindly. "For now you should settle in, make yourself comfortable, adjust to the magic environment and start attending my classes." The emphasized "my" didn't escape Hermione's attention.

"Preferably from tomorrow morning." Helga pressed. "We would want for you to catch up with the course."

But Hermione's curiosity was not satisfied.

"What work do other students do?"

Helga Hufflepuff replied congenially:

"Some are brewing potions, some work in the dungeons, a small number of students bring the required herbs from the woods, others are involved in building the school walls and tend to the grounds, and we are currently expanding, so the patrol groups were established. We require every free hand, and as no one is able to provide for your education, you are to be assigned to the assisting group as well and make your contribution."

"Of course," Hermione nodded gratefully, a small smile playing on her lips. The thought of imprinting her magic signature upon the coming- into-life Hogwarts was indeed exiting and well-wished for.

Helga patted Hermione's cheek with a mother like affection.

"When you were brought to the castle, broke and burnt, I realised that there might be secrets within you, that you are not ready to share."

Hermione tensed.

Catching Hermione's worried expression，Helga took her dry palm in her warm hands.

"You don't have to tell me anything yet, however if you wish to talk, my ears are always ready to listen."

Hermione hesitated. Could she trust her with the truth? War taught her many things, and laid a great impact on her judgment, which was now constantly accompanied by suspicion and irking her not to trust anyone blindly.

"Thank you, madam," was her only reply. Helga Hufflepuff raised her eyebrows at that but to Hermione's relief didn't push further.

"You may rest today," Helga let go of her hand and stared at Hermione's gown. "A generous gift indeed," she mused, frowning. "But I suppose you didn't have much choice, given your circumstances."

Hermione wondered why the dress she was wearing made Helga so displeased. She had her own thoughts on that matter, though. At this particular century, the rich coloured materials were expensive and only high aristocracy was able to afford the luxury. Did Hermione consider that fact when she hurried to cover her nudity? The thought never occurred to her until the dinner in the Great Hall, where almost every female student except for the ladies she dared to join were dressed in plain black and white gowns, mildly reminding her of the future Hogwarts' uniforms.

Helga waved her hand and two sets of familiar plain gowns appeared on her bed. An enormous empty chest followed and placed itself under the narrow window. Helga cleared her throat:

"It is up to you to decide which garment to favour, but in your place I would have thought twice before accepting Sir Salazar's tokens."

Hermione's eyes widened at the obvious pretext. She opened her mouth to reassure the matron, but Helga Hufflepuff dismissed her hurried explanations with the wave of her hand.

"At this I shall bid you good night. I have a potion to attend to in a few minutes."

"Thank you, lady Hufflepuff."

"You are welcome, child," the witch smiled and with the rustle of her crimson robe, left the chamber.

Alone at last, Hermione let out a relieved sigh. Hesitantly she moved toward the bed, sat on the firm uninviting bedding and closed her eyes.

"Here it is," she thought with trepidation. "My new life."

Several minutes passed before she decided to disrobe and get under the woollen covers. The soft steps around the room alerted her of Melinda's presence, but facing the wall she didn't acknowledge her neighbour. She had much to think of and the doubts nestled in her heart kept her restless through the night. Haunting dreams plagued Hermione's conscience and she barely had enough sleep before she was pulled out of the nightmare by the blood-chilling, hoarse screaming. It took her a moment to recognise her own voice and she sat upright in bed, her chest heaving and heart beating rapidly and painfully against her ribcage.

She moaned and hid her sweaty face in her palms. Sadly it took a few more seconds to take in her surroundings and to come to a depressing conclusion that she was indeed in a nightmare. A real one this time.

A pair of grey eyes peered at her with precautious suspicion.

"I suppose being burnt is not nice after all." The girl mumbled, fuming.

Hermione was about to apologise for the disrupted sleep when Melinda spoke again:

"If you are not going to discuss courtships, engagements and marriage with me, you are welcome to share my chambers. A word of warning though, I enjoy reading till late hours and hate being disturbed while at it."

Hermione pulled her face into a weak smile.

"No problem with me if you shall respect me in the same way."

Melinda huffed in a very unladylike, but wholeheartly appreciated by Hermione manner.

"You do sound like a normal girl," her roommate confessed, stretching her hand toward the cooled fire place. In a second, the flames were dancing merrily in the grate.

"I hate those snobbish English ladies who faint when I say "Merlin's stinky bollocks".

"I see," Hermione couldn't suppress a small laugh. "They really did?"

"What? Faint?" Melinda was now putting her gown on. "A few of them did. But I know they were pretending."

Hermione smiled and hugged her knees.

"Most likely."

From the girl's cheerful talking, Hermione found out that Melinda McWeasel arrived at Hogwarts two years ago from Highlands and was placed in Rowena Ravenclow's care. She also came from a powerful and wealthy wizarding family and like every Scottish, was energetic, straight forward, brave and valued her freedom.

She had also reached her "marriage age", as she stated, revolted by the prospect. Melinda had just recently turned fourteen and any day, could be called back home to marry a decent wizard from her clan.

"I do not favor a prospect of becoming an old hag, but I wish I could have one more year."

Hermione was confused.

"You think that at fifteen you won't find a decent suitor?"

"Men tend to choose younger witches, preferably of twelve or thirteen years old."

Hermione cringed, but forced a polite smile. She hoped to avoid being questioned, although a chance was slim.

"What about you?"

"Oh…" Hermione decided to state her opinion truthfully. Partly because girls tend to gossip and she didn't want to complicate her life. "I am not marrying any time soon."

"You are not?" Melinda started combing her hair.

"I decided to become an emancipated woman… eh… independent in my decisions, so to say."

Melinda's hand froze midair.

"You decided?" she questioned utterly surprised. "What about your family? What did your father say?"

Hermione once again thought over her reply.

"They are far away," she decided to be part truthful for her own benefit. "They… don't remember they have a daughter."

Melinda's grey eyes became sad and sympathetic.

"I knew there was something tragic about you," she said slowly and sat down on Hermione's bed. "Did they disinherit you?"

"No," Hermione didn't want to belittle her parents. "There was a man. He wanted to kill everyone I love. I had to go into hiding to save them."

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to chase away the lingering shadows of her recent unpleasant dream. Faces, so many faces, of her friends and nemesis. Also pain, and grief, and regret.

"You don't have to worry," she heard Melinda's quiet voice. "No one will harm you here. Not with sir Gryffindor and sir Slytherin around. And if that won't be enough, you are welcome to come with me. My father and brothers have power to protect you. They will be delighted to help a witch as you. Do not fear. You are safe now."

They talked no more that day. Both engulfed in the early morning toiletries, breakfast - which to Hermione's dismay was served at five in the morning - and classes till midday. After the much awaited lunch, everyone was obliged to attend to their duties. Some did the necessary revisions, and others, less lucky individuals worked for the benefit of the school under the strict guidance of the founders or their deputies.

For the time being, Hermione was free of any additional work load as she was considered being "on the way to discover her potential", at least that was what Helga Hufflepuff reasoned with. Hermione didn't mind the least as the plethora of uncomfortable issues slammed into her with the crushing force of troll's club, and put the hanging problem of time-travelling in the very last place in a long row of unpleasant discoveries of a century.

Firstly, she could not believe she had to take a cool bath in a barrel while other girls were waiting for their turn, either chatting or openly gawking at her scared body. Secondly, Hermione found herself being terrified of the washing room and a huge amount of the night pots presented for their convenience. Middle age conveniences put her on edge of hysterics, and the lack of a wand didn't help the issue.

Hermione blinked rapidly when she realized that she dozed off during Helga Hufflepuff's lecture about moonstones. She already knew the properties of that particular gem, but was quite exited to learn about their usage in ancient alchemy, which was a banned subject in her time for over five centuries. Nicolas Flamel was the only remaining alchemist but in four hundred years of his long life he did not once accept apprenticeship. Hermione could hardly wait to start the first experiment under lady Hufflepuff keen supervision.

She earned the first praise in about thirty minutes of working with dangerous liquids, and was so delighted by the success that she missed curious glances the domineering male part of the student body shot at her.

There were only three girls including herself attending Helga Hufflepuff's class, which at first made her quite uncomfortable, but on the other hand there were not so many witches in Hogwarts to begin with, so she quickly adjusted to the constant attention.

As the first week stretched into another, Hermione suffered another shocking discovery, which left her stressed, humiliated and even terrified at the prospect of her monthly female problem. So far no one seemed to notice her uncomfortable existence, and she had no plans to change that. Since she could not possibly confront any female on the troubling topic without arising unnecessary suspicions she decided to deal with it in Hermione's way. Brewing a potion to seize her menses seemed to be the best option. But Helga's med-cupboard lacked the ingredients, and even if she had, Hermione didn't feel keen to steal.

She decided on asking Helga the permission to do some brewing in the afternoon, and impressed Helga with an excellent sample of a blood-replenishing potion, the matron had been running out off in her potion cabinet. Some of the student's duties were to wrestle away the dangerous magical creatures out of the Hogwarts territories. That included the wondering trolls and sometimes werewolves. Hermione even heard a rumor about a giant wishing to take residence near the lake, but that case was dealt with Slytherin and Griffindor's force, as none of the younger apprentices was allowed to approach an enraged giant. The whole daily routine of patrolling the grounds and searching through the outskirts of the woods brought a healthy stream of wounded men into Helga's care and Hermione found herself being the one in assistance. She was not allowed to approach an open bleeding wound but was helpful enough at the other side of the chamber, mashing the root for a painkilling draught, or mixing the vials for a quick skelet-grow. She was asked to brew her improved blood-replenishing potion almost every day and soon enough was allowed to work on calming draughts and heeling balms. The latter was a fine artifice which made Hermione's eyes spark with excitement and anticipation to impress Helga once again. And impressed she was, gracing her new student with the honor to brew the required potions without her supervision.

Since that day, Hermione found herself wandering into the adjoining medical quarters almost every day after lunch. A parchment was to appear on Helga's table, with the list of potions to brew, balms to mix and mixtures to prepare from the precious liquids in the cupboard created through the complex alchemic experiments. The moistures were a particular challenge Hermione was happy to face, as she had never worked with the liquids as an alchemist, even as inexperienced as she was.

Between her lessons and new duties as a potion maker, Hermione successfully brewed the potion she required to lighten her mood during the next week. She breathed a relieved sigh as she cropped the vials but struggled with the problem of hiding them. She missed her little bag and her wand, which turned her attention to another problem. She had to find a way to sneak out of the castle and search the hills.

Gryffindor and Slytherin seemed to maintain congenial relationship, although Hermione suspected they were cooperating only for the benefit of Hogwarts. They were occupied from dawn to sunset, but still managed to notice everything; especially Slytherin.

When Helga mentioned Salazar Slytherin being curious about her, she apparently underestimated the man's growing obsession with Hermione's whereabouts. Hermione knew he was suspicious, but could not think about any possible way to divert his attention, except for one.

The silence was palpable when early Tuesday morning Hermione Granger hesitantly entered the dungeon. Everyone was watching her. She didn't have to raise her eyes from the floor to feel the collective staring. She hurried to the nearest vacant chair, making sure she sat down as gracefully as it could have been possible in a long slightly oversized gown. When she deliberately adjusted the skirts around her feet, she looked up, with her face carefully blank and emotionless.

As expected, every single occupant of the circular room was male. Her eyes ran swiftly over a few curious faces, noticing a polite surprise on some on them. She blinked rapidly and felt a mortifying heat color her cheeks. She hoped no one would be actually willing to start a conversation, and almost prayed for Salazar Slytherin to hurry in.

"Lady Granger," the deep male voice on her right startled Hermione, but not as much as the impressive young man, who immediately got hold of her hand, and was bowing gracefully over it.

Hermione gulped. The warm lips touched her skin only slightly before curious blue eyes pinned her to the chair.

Hermione's throat went dry. She recognized the man from the previous encounter in the Great Hall. His name was Sir Adam, a supposed-to-be Malfoy predecessor.

Hermione gently pulled her hand out of his lingering grip and switched her attention to the surroundings. The room was dark, but nothing about its round shape or the heavy placed in a semi-circle chairs carried any trace of a menacing aura, as she had been anticipating. The torches of warm fire were attached to the grey stone walls, and just like other firelights in the castle, they spread magically magnified heat to warm the chilly air.

Open robe billowing after him, Salazar Slytherin entered the chamber with a purposeful stride of a proud decisive man who bore no doubt about his power. Hermione was still trying to get a grip on her nerves when he started talking, his quiet deep voice resonating in the complete silence:

"… in the chest. You all are well-practiced and familiar with the incantation. Mister Malfoy will try first. Lady Granger will be the last. I trust there is no need to remind you not to forget to think of something hilarious and deprive us of an aggravating necessity to watch your pathetic fears."

A condescending murmur followed and Adam Malfoy stepped into the center of the room. A flick of his right wrist and the chest opened with a slow screeching sound. To Hermione's astonishment a bogart turned into a dementor and eventually shrank back, as everyone laughed to see him in the period female dress. Even Hermione allowed herself a small smile. It was unsettling to watch Harry's fear to be the same as Malfoy's ancestor. She felt strangely linked to her past and for what seemed like a moment, got lost in her memories.

"Lady Granger,"

Through laugh and mirthful discussions of their weaknesses, she heard her name being called again and stood up.

"It's alright if you are scared," she felt Adam's warm and supportive hand on her shoulder and gave him a reassuring smile. "I shall be beside you to assist, if necessary."

Hermione's heart soared and then sank back into the gloom when she noticed Slytherin's dangerously contemplating countenance and his narrowed-on- Adam-Malfoy grey eyes.

Hermione shook her head slightly. It wasn't time to dwell on Slytherin's interest in her persona. She had a bogart to get rid of, mutely and without her wand. Thinking hard and concentrating on her never appearing wandless magic, she slowly made her way into the centre of the room and faced a giant confused troll looking dumbly at the sword in his hand, although what was funny about it she could not possibly fathom.

As she watched the creature, familiar heavy smog enveloped it in a dark grey cocoon of transformation, which slowly dissolved, bringing her new fear into view. This time, however, it was not professor McGonagall.

Hermione froze, turning pale, as her worst nightmare slowly turned its head her way.

"Hello, little mudblood," the crispy voice of Bellatrix Lestrange reached every corner of the room. "Shall we continue our talk? _A girl to girl._ "


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

 **Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I only play. I am not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

 **WARNING:** MATURE READERS ONLY.

* * *

Hermione couldn't move her eyes from her nightmare. She sure was sleeping as the pain never came. The woman's dark countenance, graceful sharp movements and the mad intensity in her bottomless black eyes put Hermione in extremis from fear. She felt stunned, blood rushed down her body turning her limbs into a heavy buckling mass. And while she stood motionless in the middle of the room reliving every torturous second during her captivity at the Malfoy Manor, the bogart sauntered closer.

"Hello, little mudblood," Bellatrix's crispy voice echoed in the total silence. Her familiar insane laughter rolled off the walls and brought confusion on the faces of the other students.

"Shall we talk? A girl to girl?" and she laughed again.

Hermione tensed. It wasn't real. It was just a bogart. Just a…

Hermione stepped back, her palm unconsciously covering the prickling "Mudblood" on her forearm.

"What's wrong, filth? Not so brave anymore?" she protended her tongue, her face gleeful. "Aren't we courageous and ready to die for the greater good? Ah? What did you say?" Her face screwed up in rage. "You took it! You and your filthy blood traitors took it from my vault!" Her dark eyes bulged out, voice leveling down into sickening incredulity. _"What else did you take?"_ and she raised her wand.

"I'll make you talk! No one defies the Dark Lord! You'll tell me everything! And then I'll let Grayback have a bite. Long has he waited to taste your dirty blood." Hermione staggered on her feet. "Tell me what else you took from my vault! Tell me! Tell me! _Crucio_!"

The red beam hit Hermione straight in the chest. She hit the floor and heard herself screaming. She couldn't tell if it was her memory playing tricks, or she really shifted again, and she was captured by Death Eaters, struggling for sanity. Her mind was filled with scourging draining fire, her twitching body drowning in excruciating pain. Her limbs twisted, spine arched and she screamed and wailed and screeched, until the torturous wave withdrew and she half-sank half-hang between consciousness and consuming darkness. She welcomed the latter almost pleadingly, as she knew what was coming next - the cursed knife and never ending pain.

Hermione shuddered when warm fingers brushed her cheek and wiped the droplets of blood from her bitten lip. She opened her eyes and stared into two silver orbs, fogged by undeniable confusion and almost palpable frustration.

She heard the whisperings in the distance:

"Is she alright?"

"Who was that witch?"

"She had _a wand,_ " someone sounded surprised.

"What was she talking about?"

"Who is the Dark Lord?"

"She said "blood traitors", what could it be?"

And amidst all the incomprehensible murmur, one clear and steady voice called to her to hang on.

"It's alright. Let me have you."

Hermione felt herself being lifted from the floor and then carefully cradled in strong arms.

"You are dismissed," Slytherin sounded irritated. No one argued. One by one his students left the classroom, their curious and baffled gazes hanging on her limp form. Slytherin tucked her more securely into his chest and made it into another dimly lit chamber, void of any windows; Hermione looking aghast, and wincing at his clutching strength on her protesting body.

"Hold on a little more, little girl," Slytherin said harshly, looking into her shocked face with a taunting smile.

Hermione blinked and wiggled in his arms. Frowning, Slytherin grudgingly complied and lowered her on the chair. He moved out of sight, partly concealed by the darkness and she heard a clinging sound. A shiver ran down her spine when he talked again. "A mudblood, eh?"

Hermione blanched and shrank deeper into the sturdy chair, so high her feet didn't reach the floor. She shivered again, sinking into self-concern and wincing at the humming painful muscle tremor.

The memories - horrendous memories! - were after her again. She clasped her sweaty palm over her forearm, grateful for the narrow sleeves of her school gown, hiding the treacherous scar and for a moment of recess. To her chagrin, he was striding back almost immediately, confident and menacing looking. She refused to look at him.

"Drink," he ordered, pushing a frail vial in her weak hand. Hermione eyed the content with concern. It was a clear liquid, thick in its essence and could be anything. Her mind scrolled over a dozen potions with the equal innocent appearance that would make her quite miserable, were she to take it. On the other hand, it could have been a basic pain-killer potion she craved so much at the moment, or even a harmless muscle relaxant she desperately needed. Could she risk it? Would she have taken a chance to try it, if Voldemort himself had been expecting her compliance?

The doubt on her face didn't escape Slytherin.

"Drink it, or I shall shove it down your throat!" he threatened, and Hermione brought the vial to her pale lips. Surprisingly it tasted sweet and nice. She licked her lips, feeling her body unwind from the tight clasp of pain. Her nerve endings felt soothed, the tension seeping out of her body, leaving her pleasurably relaxed. Ron would appreciate this mixture before and after exams, she guessed and at once felt sad.

 _Ron…_

"Thank you," she whispered, lowering her eyes, and praying. Praying that he didn't ask… that he…

"Normally, bogarts do not wield such tremendous power as to bring someone down by bodily pain. They aim for the heart. Your fear of that witch was too humongous, little girl. You fed it. Your own fear attacked you today. "

He took the vial from her fingers and replaced it with the mug of warm herb tea.

"I wasn't afraid of her," Hermione protested quietly, although it was only half-truth. "I was afraid of pain."

She dared to peek at Slytherin over the rim of the mug, judging his expressions and considering ways to avoid the interrogation. He was looming over her. His handsome face scowling, while she was slowly sipping her tea.

Wait…

 _Handsome?_

The notion struck and she choked, sputtering the drink over her school gown.

"How interesting…" she heard and pressed her palm to her mouth.

 _Could he read thoughts?_

He probably could. Hermione colored, feeling embarrassed.

"Don't fret, witch," he said, amused by her reaction. "Normally it's not so easy to access your mind. It's a guarded fortress, believe me, I've seen enough simple-minded creatures to make this statement. In your present relaxed state however, you let your guard down, and gave me a glimpse." His lips twitched sardonically. "You are hiding something and scared that I will force it out of you."

He paused and then whispered almost gently.

"Should I enter your mind, little girl?"

"You said it won't be easy," Hermione replied weakly.

To her surprise Slytherin agreed.

"No, it won't. But I shall still gain my entrance." He crossed his arms over his chest. "Start talking."

"You saw everything. What else to add? She tortured me for hours, trying to find out what had I taken from her secret place…"Hermione shook her head. "She never did. And neither will you."

His gray eyes peered into her, softened from the calming herbs drink. Hermione's confused mind tried to resist, impressing Salazar further, but only mildly. The witchling was delightedly inexperienced with her magic abilities. Were she a half-blood, he would take great pleasures tutoring her personally both in spell work _and_ her bedroom performances. He wondered if she was as innocent in body, as her magical spirit seemed to be.

Slytherin resisted the urge to push further into the guarded layers of her thoughts. Her sweet crafted mind was luring him, though, and he pressed just a little only to hear her gasp. He caught the glimpses of the same dark-haired witch, shooting hexes and slashing with her crooked knife over the delicate pale skin of the girl's arm. Anger filled his chest and he had to pull rains on his temper to smoothly slither further, when the dark twists of her mind contained much alluring secrets.

She pushed at him harder this time, and he withdrew albeit reluctantly. He looked at her anew. She stood up to the mad woman, and she didn't break. He knew first hand now, to what lengths she would go to protect her precious memories. He smiled. Slytherin enjoyed this challenge and he was curious. Playing with her might entertain him for some time. Now that he was confident that she was familiar with magic, he doubted her dirty heritage. But still he had to assure himself.

"You are not a mudblood, are you?" he asked, and saw her stiffen. He caught a stray curl of her wild hair and tucked it behind her ear.

"I am not," was her quiet guarded reply and he frowned.

She lied and his magic heightened. Pushing forward to strike, to punish… to maul.

There was truth in her words though, and that gave him a pause. Something rang warnings in his mind. He knew he shouldn't trust his senses with her. The fastest way would be to break through her barricades, find out the truth and… possibly leave her permanently violated, her bright mind torn apart and incurable.

"Don't deceive me!" he lashed out, hating to admit that he stopped wishing her harm. "For I recognize lies, when those are spoken."

Hermione shuddered and pulled away almost tumbling on the stone floor in her haste to get away from his wrath.

Slytherin grabbed her, his fingers curled into her shoulders.

"A half-blood,"he made a guess.

Hermione didn't reply, her silence annoying him more than he anticipated. Everything about her was irritably deceiving. Salazar tried to enter her mind again, but the girl was expecting him and this time she fought back, her mental shield shutting down on him, impressing the wizard beyond everything.

 _No…_ \- he mused. – _She couldn't be a mudblood._

Slytherin encountered enough of those dirty creatures to know that Hermione wasn't one of those stupid dunderheads.

He felt another mental shove and scowled down at her, annoyed.

She wasn't strong enough to hold him back, but she'd put up a fight, her decisive stubborn face assured him of that.

"Don't try it," she sounded fearful, while warning him off of her tempting secrets. " _She_ couldn't do it and so won't _you_. I'll go mad first! I swear!"

Salazar raised an eyebrow.

"There are many other ways to access your thoughts, little witch," he told her quietly, his word slithering its way through her defenses, the relaxing tone promising peace to her guarded subconscious. He could woo her.

"Stop it!"Hermione pushed herself from the chair. Her body felt strangely lax, the woven legs obeyed her albeit grudgingly.

"I will unravel you secrets,little half-blood," Hermione swallowed her panic, but forced herself to stand up to him. "I want to leave!" she whispered. "These," she pointed around. "Look like your personal chambers. I don't understand why you would bring me here."

He bloody well didn't know it himself. He just scooped the girl and stalked away, never bothering to reply on any surprised glances. Now that he thought about it, he recalled Gryffindor and Ravenclaw conversing by the clock they were about to hoist above the entrance. Curse Godric for his amusement at lady Rowena's shock when she spotted him in his barbaric spirits.

Salazar looked at Hermione. She was inching toward the exit, her expression as frightened and eager to leave as moments sighed.

A half-blood… Better than nothing, as it was, she still was merely sufficient for copulation. To his utter bewilderment he found himself being entertained by the mere idea of Granger girl on her hands and knees.

A quick relaxing fuck would improve his mood, he decided and shut the door. The girl jumped, startled. He could see her pretty eyes rounding as the heavy wooden bolt slowly drew into place, sealing her inside.

"Magic has its benefits," he shrugged, lifting her off the ground with a lazy flick of his hand, and levitating her stunned form toward another set of doors leading to his bed chambers.

"I have decided that it's time for me to collect your gratification," he murmured, amused by her struggles. "And it's done better on the bed."

"What?!" Hermione's blood went cold.

Surely, he hadn't just said "bed".

 _Had he?_

She kicked and squirmed under the levitating enchantment until her body got suspended over the horrendously huge bed, covered in multiple furs that poor animals might have donated to his comfort. That's when she realized, she didn't want to be put down anymore.

But her thoughts mattered nothing. Hermione hit the bed with thud and a grunt, immediately rolling on her stomach and scurrying away.

Her body froze mid-step and then, obeying magical compulsion, moved to position itself in the middle of the bed. Hermione shuddered when her stiff calves spread themselves wider and her elbows bent, deeping into the soft silky fur. She felt partly petrified and imperioused at the same time.

A tiny vial filled with crimson liquid flew to her face, and Hermione's jaw slackened and started opening up.

NO!

She squeezed her lips shut, resisting the compulsion and went rigid when her tormentor chuckled softly behind her back.

"It's not a poison. I assure you." Hermione heard his clothes drop on the floor and whimpered. "The mixture will assist you in relaxing and you shall enjoy it as much as I do."

The vial nudged her chin insistently, while Hermione desperately struggled to obtain control over her body.

The hideous truth of the reality slammed in when Slytherin's palms lowered on her hips. Her mouth opened and she screamed, her shrill loud and hysteric.

"Get you hands off me! You barbarian! You have no right to touch me! I am not a whore! I have a betrothed! Unhandle me this instant!"

Salazar laughed.

"What a delightful fiery thing you are! I'll enjoy mounting you."

 _Mounting her?_

Was he in earnest? Hermione's breathing became so elaborate, she could hardly hear him through her heart's frantic pounding in her ears.

"I sense the truth in your words. Although it's hard to believe that any wizard would abandon a witch to the fire. You are also mature enough to be with kids. How old are you, minx?"

"Nineteen!" she gritted out, clenching her teeth.

"That's more than I initially presumed," he mused, petting her thigh. "Why aren't you married? Didn't your family want to secure your future? It's not safe for a witch to wonder the world on her own. Especially as ignorant as yourself."

Hermione sensed his warm palms smoothing the material of her gown and palming her bottom. She tried to wiggle away, fighting the curse with all her might, her attempts doing nothing but entertain him more. Tears prickled in her eyes.

"Don't you dare touching me!" She whispered angry and frustrated.

"I feel your magic battling mine," he replied thoughtfully. "It knows what it's doing, but has no clue as to _how_. I find it very interesting."

He patted her shaking rear soothingly and then his hand sneaked under her gown.

Hermione's breath hitched.

"Don't you dare, you monster!" she screamed in terror.

"Settle yourself, lady Hermione," he laughed. "Although, if it's a _"lady"_ is still disputable." His fingers gathered both the thick gown and chemise and hiked them over her back, exposing her to her waist.

Hermione was mortified. She wore no panties or any kind of underwear, as she discovered that there were none in use at that time. Her dainty fingers clenched the bedding and she hid her burning face in its layers.

Salazar however was stricken and speechless. Her perfect heart-shaped bottom looked ripe and utterly alluring. He couldn't resist the temptation to cup the soft full cheeks and gently rub them.

"Oh, pleeease don't!" the girl beseeched, but he was too entranced by the view to mind her.

He spread her pliable cheeks and stilled. His finger traced an absolutely bare–from-any-pubic-hair slit. He palmed her center and discovered no trace of hair there either. Bewildered, he charm-lifted her bottom from the bed for his inspection. Her bent legs dangled in the air helplessly.

"You are bare!" He stated, staring and admiring the view.

"I know it, you pureblood asshole!" Hermione shrieked.

"Why don't you have hair? Are you diseased?"

Hermione tensed. She had it temporarily removed by an altered balding jinx. Only the term "temporarily" varied from two to five months of comfortable existence.

"Magic?" Slytherin questioned.

As if something else could have ever resulted in something so perfectly done, Hermione would have replied, but was too aware of his exploring hand and scrutinizing eyes.

"Stop pawing me, you brute!"

He parted her inner folds and actually bent to have better look.

"I want you witch," he declared resolutely. "I promise you a settled situation whether you are untouched or not. Submit to me!"

 _Was he serious?_

Seething, Hermione finally got enough control over her arm to shove away the vial poking her shattered hitting the bedpost.

She heard Slytherin sigh in exasperation.

"Have you got something to lose, little witch?" His finger prodded her entrance carefully. "Surely, you've had a man before. You are nineteen after all. What's one more?"

If there was any chance to stop him using honesty, she'd do it.

"I haven't!" Hermione cried out and shuddered at the intrusion of his thick digit, sliding back and forth and abasing her tender skin.

He stopped, removed his finger and then confessed:

"I want you even more now."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut. Confessing that she was of dirty blood could have been an option, if not for the fact that it didn't stop him from ill-using the previous muggleborn girl and then send her on her way presumably, due to a successful marriage. She had a gut wrenching premonition about the whole muggleborn thing in this century.

"I am promised to another!" she declared, proud of her threatening voice. "Remove your hands at once and let me go!" she was so terrified that the decisions were taking place instantaneously. "If these are the conditions of my staying ay Hogwarts, I am leaving at the first opportunity."

Melinda's proposition to shelter her didn't seem as appalling as before. At least she would be safe from Slytherin and his dirty advances. Numb with fear, she forgot all about her "back to future" plan.

"Leave?" Slytherin sounded displeased even to himself. "Live where?"

Hermione knew he'd know if she lied.

"With Melinda," she replied.

"McWeasel?!" he asked angrily, his hand gripping her thigh.

Salazar scowled. McWeasel was the biggest clan in Highland, consisting of its ruthless leader Author McWeasel and his nine sons. All of them where unmarried, and definitely in search for a witch to claim. Lady Granger's arrival there would cause uproar of a good kind, followed by multiple duels for her hand.

An unclaimed witch, even a half-blood was a prize, for those of common thinking. In Slytherin's opinion though, mudbloods were for fucking, half-bloods for liaisons and pureblood witches for breeding. It was that simple. He only wished others were persuaded to share his opinion more willingly. He despised mudbloods and their craving for knowledge. Their place was beneath kneeling servitude; they lived to please and attend to their betters. Salazar went as far as to graciously take care of _their_ needs from time to time. He even invented a potion, which would numb their senses, cloud their conscience and make them wet and ready for partaking in sexual activities.

Hermione Granger wasn't a mudblood though. He could feel her magic struggling to rebuke his. She tried to summon the jug on his head, but failed. She pushed as far as to actually stun him, trip him, make him sick and disarm him. The latter was strange though, because he held no weapon. He felt her exasperation and fear when those attempts failed.

Poor thing. She had no knowledge of how to simply direct her magic. But she was strong and powerful, and he was interested.

"There would be no leaving me， witch," he informed her decisively. "I shall have you in my bed."

His hand was a heavy burning press on her hip; the feeling was not entirely unpleasant, although when she felt his finger prodding her body again andcurling a little, she shuddered from pain.

"You are tight, witch," he observed, his voice husky. "You can hardly accommodate my digit. I will enjoy molding your body to mine."He sighed regretfully. "Not today though."

Slowly, his finger withdrew and Hermione was able to move again. She jumped out of the bed, lowering her skirts and awarding him with a hateful glare. The tender flesh between her thighs tingled a little. Her face burned red from humiliation, fear and anger.

She stared at him defiantly and Salazar smirked. So much spirit. He liked her. He wouldn't admit it, but the fact that Godric's hat put her in his charge was probably the wisest thing the rag ever did so far. Maybe "a sorting hat" wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Now-now… There is no need to be agitated." He shifted, sat on the edge of the bed and beckoned her with his hand. "Come. Show me your left arm."

The little color left on her face, drained, highlighting the paleness of her fair skin and moonlike features. Slytherin found himself being entranced by her wild beauty. Everything about her exceeded his expectations.

"What?" he heard her whisper.

"Your left arm, girl. I want to see it," he demandedimpatiently. He might not bed her today, but he would savor her closenessnonetheless. And maybe have another peek at her perfect nether region.

"You can't," he heard and frowned.

"Don't make me force you, because I will."

Hermione swallowed to loosen the tight contraction in her throat.

"Please," she whispered. "Haven't you seen enough?"

An amused smile danced on his lips.

"Not in the slightest," he informed her, enjoying the humiliation he was causing, and the fear she was emitting. Hermione fisted the sides of her gown and lowered her head, in what he thought smugly was a defeat.

"Approach me," Slytherin persevered despite apparent horror marring her dainty features.

Salazar straightened his back and placed his hands on his strong thighs. Hermione made a tiny step forward. Then another.

Slytherin's arm shot out, snaked around her waist and pulled her between his legs. She noticed with trepidation that even seated, he easily dwarfed her.

His fingers pulled on the tight sleeve of her gown, tearing it at the seam and exposing her forearm. He stilled, glaring at the crooked scar lines.

 _Mudblood._

He looked at the girl. She looked shaken.

Could she be a mudblood?

He almost wished for it to be true. It would have been much easier to bend her to his will, if she was indeed a mudblood.

"Are you a mudblood?" he asked again, his hatred toward her dirty kind carefully suppressed. He didn't want to spook her. He wanted to bed her.

"I've already given you my reply," she averted her face, pulling at her hand.

Salazar covered the ugly writing with his palm, squeezing it.

"She tortured you," he stated, and still she was silent.

"What did she want to know?"

What should she tell him? Hermione couldn't lie. He would know. She managed to confuse him, denying her mudblood heritage, but only because she had never considered her blood being dirty. Hermione had her own theory for muggleborns, but it was too early to share it with anyone. She was saving it for the new world, cleared from blood-purity shackles.

"It doesn't matter now," she replied so quietly it almost tugged at his heart. It could have, if he had one. "That witch is dead and won't be able to cause harm anymore."

Slytherin didn't like her reply.

"It's cursed," he said instead.

Hermione frowned, her concern of his proximity dissipating. She eyed the scar warily. She figured it had been cursed, since it never totally healed and was prickling from time to time, but what more was to it, she simply hadn't had an opportunity to address it, with the war and deaths, raging and looming at her heels.

Salazar dropped her hand and battled his instincts. Somehow, he found the foreignmagician imprint on her body unsettling. The girl was affecting his sanity and he didn't like it one bit. He did not care for the trollops he bedded. And he refused to go against his principles now, no matter how insistent his instinct called for action, and how vividly his imagination played against him.

"Now that you've seen _everything,_ can I go?" Hermione asked, fidgeting on her spot. The rebellious glint in her eyes, clouded by a thin layer of fear, made him desire her more. She was quite a mystery. _His_ half-blood. A mystery he would take particular pleasure to unravel.

His palms traced the sides of her tiny wait leisurely.

"I don't like this bulky gown," he murmured huskily, the image of her bare mould burnt forever into his memory.

 _So soft and silky._

Salazar growled pushing her away.

Hermione staggered catching her balance.

"Go now," he said, clenching his fists. "Flee, before I fuck you, like a half-blood deserves to be fucked."

Hermione's eyes became glassy from the dread of his threat. She sprinted toward the door. He glimpsed apprehension and terror in their warm depths before she wrenched the door open. The sound of her retreating steps a torturous relief to his burning need.


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Harry Potter. I only play. I am not making any money off the writing of this fanfic.

* * *

Chapter 5

"We seriously need to do something about your nightmares."

Hermione's eyes fluttered open and she sat straight on her bed, suffocating and sweating her way out of the bad dream.

"I'm sorry," she croaked out, wiping her forehead and neck with the sleeve of her nightgown.

"Was it fire again?" Melinda asked curiously.

No, it wasn't. This time it was Slytherin who managed to slither his was in her nightmare and participate in the main events. Hermione shuddered, but gave Melinda a curt nod.

"Merlin help me to understand the joy of self-immolation!" Melinda muttered getting out of bed. "I'm going to use the chamber pot and then take my time in the washroom. Care to join?"

Hermione shook her head.

"No, I think I will stay in bed for a little longer."

It was Sunday and she had a plan for her unoccupied morning.

"Alright." Melinda grabbed her night pot from under the bed and hid behind a tapestry to tend to her needs.

Hermione fell back onto her pillow and closed her eyes. The events of the previous day nudged scolding rush of tears to her eyelids, but she refused to let them out. She was not a weakling!

She rubbed her eyes roughly, afraid that Melinda might notice her distress. That girl was highly perceptive. She was also right about her nightmares. Hermione had to do something about it. She couldn't continue waking the castle with her shrieks every night. Could she risk brewing a Dreamless potion? She tried to remember when the remedy was invented but was too stressed to think. She heard Melinda fussing for some time and then she left, the squeak of the door hinges as ominous as everything was at that time.

Hermione rubbed her face warily. She felt tired and not at all happy with the zero development on her "back to future" plan. She fumbled with her hand under the bed, grabbed her night pot and dragged herself behind the tapestry. She couldn't help but notice that Melinda's pot was stark clean. She envied Melinda's wandless abilities and hated walking all the way to the washing room in broad light only to clean her night pot. Life in the eleventh century was terribly exhausting, all kinds of embarrassments accosting her from every corner.

Hermione hurried and completed her morning routine promptly by 5am and soon afterwards, was on her way to inspect the hills' territory. Her thin cloak flapped behind her back as she climbed the steepy ground, all the time looking around cautiously and trying to backtrack the route Salazar had taken a month ago while bringing her to the castle.

To her relief, there was no one in the vicinity and she took a minute to marvel at the glistering mist over the silver waters of the lake. The orange blicks of the rising sun shone on the covered-in-hoar-specks wilted grass. The Hogwarts' lonely tower on the other side grimly reminded her of the task and she forced her freezing body into motion again.

She searched the ground carefully, trying to resurrect her "landing spot" in her evading memory. She thought she found it a short time later but to her chagrin, there was not a sight of her wand nearby.

Hermione heaved a sigh, suppressing the threatening-to-break-out emotions of sorrow and fear. Her steel-like resistance to succumb in misery, rapidly resulted in her head pounding and she slumped down on the crispy frosty grass in a defeated stoop.

She was left optionless. She had to study wandless magic. But how? Everyone seemed to have no trouble brandishing their powers around the castle. Hermione on the other hand felt powerless and incapable, although she wasn't, except that in this century, she could probably be considered a squib.

" _The brightest witch of her age,"_ Hermione scoffed and stared around. There must be something. Anything, that bears a hint of her arrival. Suddenly, a colorful glitter caught her eye. Hermione sprang to her feet and sprinted toward the bright light. When she spotted the object she dropped on her knees and almost wept in relief.

Her fingers shook as they clutched her beaded bag. She rummaged inside and pulled out a long crooked wand.

" _Oh thank you, Belatrix,"_ she thought grimly, clutching the enemy's wand to her chest. It felt foreign and wrong. But she was grateful nonetheless. She savored the merry feeling of security that immediately overtook her and then started making the necessary adjustments.

Hermione charmed the cloak and the soles of her shoes to thicken and have some ever-lasting warming padding. She trimmed her dress robes shortening the hem and narrowing the width, so it lay snugly on her frame.

Her last triumphal achievement was the warm knee-length set of pantalets she wore above the thin lace knickers she salvaged from her bag.

Utterly relieved and happy, Hermione didn't notice another wizard's presence when she paused at the feet of the castle to conjure the thin strap upholster around her left forearm. She sheathed the wand and pulled the tight sleeve back on when the shuffling steps reached her ears. Hermione turned around sharply, her chest heaving, but at least it wasn't Slytherin stalking her.

It turned out to be Adam Malfoy.

"Lady Hermione!" He smiled from afar, walking briskly.

"Sir Adam," the surprise on her face completely concealed the suspicion in her slightly narrowed eyes.

 _Was he following her?_

"My lady," Adam got hold of her hand and brought it to his lips. "It's not safe to have a walk that early in the morning all by yourself. We were informed about the wild werewolves just yesterday. Allow me to escort you to the castle." His lips were lingering on her arm, his warm hand reluctant to relinquish its possession.

Hermione didn't like the feeling one bit. She was getting exceedingly distraught because of men's attention. To her relief, he let her go at her slightest pull.

"I assure you, sir, I was perfectly safe on my own. Besides, it's not the full moon yet. We are quite safe."

Adam paid no attention to her words. In fact she wondered if he heard her at all.

"Actually, I must admit. I was hoping to find you alone," Malfoy deadpanned.

Hermione's eyes narrowed. _He did?_ He _was_ following her after all.

"Lady Hermione…" there was no hesitation in his voice and immediately it put her on guard. "I have a matter of utmost importance to discuss with you. I hope you shall find it interesting."

Overflowed with doubt and suspicion Hermione reluctantly followed the young man's purposeful stride. They walked down the narrow path stretching around the Hogwarts and leading to the bank of the Black Lake.

Hermione frowned, impatient to hear his request and eager to leave. But Adam wasn't in a hurry; walking silently, intentionally keeping to her pace and making sure she didn't stumble on protruding roots on the path by keeping his hand on her elbow. By the time they reached the Black lake she was confident that his knightly gallantness was nothing but a ploy to use the opportunity and touch her.

She found it irritating and bothering.

"Hermione," he finally stopped to face her. "I've been thinking for a while," he stared directly into her perturbed eyes. "Considering options so to say. And I've made a decision."

Hermione stared at him in complete bewilderment and realized that she couldn't relax in his presence. She never liked facing unknown unprepared and he was annoyingly falling into that description.

"You are a worthy girl Hermione," Adam's voice was raspy and soft and it rubbed her in the wrong way. "I've written to my father, and he's made some inquiries on your background," his cool grey eyes pinned her to the spot. Hermione raised her eyebrows. "There is no household under the name of Granger. Apparently you were in need to hide your heritage or… you are mudblood. The latter proved wrong yesterday."

Hermione's mouth refused to form a sound. She couldn't believe they've been digging a grave behind her back!

"What are you running from, Hermione?" Adam asked with the strange intensity in his eyes and stepped closer, intentionally invading her personal space. "Whatever or whomever you are hiding from, I can protect you. My family is ready to give you a name, power and security. There's nothing we cannot deal with and no one can challenge us."

Hermione's mouth felt dry.

"Is that…" she uttered. "Are you proposing to me?"

"Proposing?" Adam looked puzzled and Hermione stared. "I intend to marry you."

If a lightning was to strike at that moment, Hermione wouldn't have noticed. If a troll was to attack her with its swaying club, she would have been killed on the spot.

Tentatively, she licked her lips then cast her eyes on the bumpy ground.

"Sir Adam," she hesitated, not knowing how to proceed. "I hardly feel worthy to… accept your… _intention_ to marry me. I think if you consider other… ladies, it might be more beneficial to your family. I, given the recent circumstances, have nothing to replenish your welfare with."

He waved her off nonchalantly.

"Malfoys require neither your name nor your gold," he informed. "Your powers would be a sufficient contribution."

"My powers?" Hermione asked, perplexed and confused. That wasn't something any Malfoy she knew from the future would say.

Adam looked surprised by her ignorance.

"You don't know?" he asked in return and then comprehension lightened his features. "But of course you don't," he said smiling and taking her hand.

His warm callused-from-sword-practice fingers started drawing patterns on her palm, sending warning jolts through her tensed body.

"You've probably noticed that the majority of Hogwarts' inhabitants are wizards?" he paused and continued when she nodded. "Available witches are not easy to come by. And even if a family does encounter one, it has to fight for the right to claim her."

Hermione's eyes went impossibly wide.

"Inter-family marriages are the common practice and a required measure to keep the powers and magic within the family. Witches are kept well hidden until the time comes for them to be given to a brother, uncle or any other member of the same family."

Hermione tried to mask her abject horror by an expression of sad understanding. She wasn't sure she succeeded though. She inclined her head for him to proceed, as she found herself speechless.

Adam shrugged.

"That's why there aren't many witches outside of the family's protection walls. You never know if a certain family has one, until it's too late. No one likes to be challenged."

Hermione could hardly believe her ears.

"As to mudbloods… they get burnt before we manage to rescue them. Usually those are kid-girls, proclaimed to be possessed by an evil force. If you manage to acquire a mudblood though, a law of honor is to be abided by everyone. A family to rescue a mudblood witch is to claim her. No one can challenge the honor."

Hermione pulled her hand out of his grasp and stepped away. Her mind was reeling.

A wizard to rescue a mudblood had all the rights to claim her? And no one could challenge him?

She knew she had to say something – Adam was waiting and watching her closely - but she felt shaken to the core and unable to think about anything at all.

"What about… what about mudb-blood boys?" somehow she knew she shouldn't ask. But she still did, and regretted it the next instant.

"They are to die," Adam replied with vehemence. "At least they were before Hufflepuff and Gryffindor argued their case and took upon themselves to accept and teach the unworthy ones."

He took a deep breath and confronted her again.

"At first everyone thought you were a mudblood. Your deep knowledge in potion making however proved us wrong and the claim Slytherin was to stake on you became invalid."

Hermione stared at him, terrified of what she was about to hear.

"You are a fair game now, Hermione."

She would have toppled onto the ground but his hands seized her shoulders and he pulled her closer.

"Hermione… Granger. My family heritage goes back a thousand years of pureblood wizards. Our blood holds the power of Great Merlin and I need an heir. You are a worthy girl, Hermione. Do yourself an honor to accept my…" he smirked. "… intentions, or prepare yourself to be conquered. I have no doubt that I will win though. Whoever the challengers are, they are doomed to face death if they decide to fight for your hand. You were born to be mine, and that you shall be."

* * *

SSHG

Reeling from shock and fear Hermione barely made it to the Great Hall when she was confronted by the impending silhouette of Salazar Slytherin lurking in the shadows and – she was confident about that part – waiting for her appearance.

No!

She had had enough of men's testosterone for one day!

Turning sharply, she went in the opposite way, deciding that she might appear to be more useful in the infirmatory after all. Her little potion lab was rapidly turning into her sanctuary. Hermione sighed. She would miss a hundred meals if only to avoid Salazar's presence. And as it happened. Adam's as well. She gritted her teeth in annoyance. He actually dared to laugh when she sprinted away from him and his grappling hands.

The infirmatory was void of patients but for one teenage boy lying on the bed after a particularly nasty fire hex. She checked his salve jar, it was still half-full, and proceeded to the potion lab, smiling to herself when she noticed the fresh list of mixtures to brew today.

She brushed her fingers over the hard form of the wand up her sleeve, calculations helping to distract her from much bothering thoughts. She figured that with the wand's help she might be done with the required potions by dinner time instead of the usual thirty-six hours. That elevated her spirits quite a bit.

Choosing to ignore the nagging ominous premonition about the "fair game" thing, she occupied herself by preparing the necessary ingredients. She would hex "the lucky winner of her hand" into the next century, if he decided he had any right to put his claim on her. She already pitied the bloke.

* * *

SSHG

Salazar scowled at her retreat. The chit was infuriating. For how long did she think she would manage to avoid him? He smirked and entered the Great Hall to join his colleagues for the meal. The propitious moment would come sooner than he anticipated, he knew as much. Not to mention that there weren't many places where she could hide. Not in Hogwarts anyway. He was always aware of her whereabouts.

Salazar excused himself from the table earlier - there was no point to linger when the object of his evanescent persuasion was currently indisposed – and walked back to his chambers on the second floor. The chest he was thinking about promptly appeared in the sitting room. He opened it with an impatient snap of his fingers, his hand reaching and pulling out the items he knew so well, but over which he still held no recognition.

Salazar palmed the material of the burnt pants, secretly enjoying its cool smoothness. _"Jeans"_ it said at the back of the waistband. What in Merlin name was _"Jeans"_? Or better to ask _who_?

The next piece of Hermione Granger's clothing contained the curious iron closing mechanism as well as _"Nike"_ over the chest. Same irritating _"Nike"_ mocked him from the backs of her strange tiny boots, made of soft white unrecognizable material.

He shoved everything inside the chest and pulled out the garment the purpose of which he thought was to be put on the head. Although what _"Victoria's Secret, size S"_ label meant, he struggled to decipher for a month.

The word _'Secret'_ though proved her mysterious identity and fueled his suspicions.

Was she a keeper of a secret?

 _Victoria's_ secret?

And who were "Nike" and "Jeans" claiming her attire thus?

A pair of incompetent twits more likely, who taught her nothing but pathetic wand moves.

He picked up the broken halves of what used to be a light brown wand. He had found it while searching the area by the pyre, a day after the girl's incineration.

The magic wand was seared, its core burnt out and dead. He was surprised to recognize the dragon heart string used as a base in the middle. Whoever those Victoria, Nike and Jeans were, they certainly could slay dragons.

Salazar pounded over the notion, finding himself not disturbed in the slightest, only mildly curious and annoyed.

Whatever claims they had over his witch, he would break them all and take her for his own, he decided and frowned, surprised at his possessiveness. Shoving the things back into the chest carelessly, he shut and warded it simultaneously. He had a witch to pursue and he could hardly wait.

* * *

The three weeks passed tortuously slowly and were quite uneventful if one agrees to call the constant attentions of the male part of the castle unflattering and her daily library researches fruitless. It seemed like everyone's goal became to corner her in the nook and _"discuss a matter of utmost importance, she might be curious about."_ By the end of October, Hermione was almost proud of her evading tactics, but judging by the affronted and angry looks Adam Malfoy and Salazar Slytherin carried around, the same couldn't be said about their dispositions. Hermione couldn't care less. She never attended another Slytherin's class for obvious reasons, and that successfully put Adam at a distance as well, which was fine with her. They both could rot for what she cared.

Checking the potion lab supplies, she in time spotted that they were running out of yellow sinew leaves. That magic flower was used in replenishing potion, but could be easily substituted, what couldn't be said about her Cutting Cycle potion. A panic hit her when she realized that there were scarcely any sinew flowers at the end of October. That's how she found herself joining the herb-searching team, led by Rowena Ravenclaw the next day.

They stopped at the beginning of the dense forest and Hermione eyed the thicket suspiciously. They were reassured by the Gryffindor's team that the werewolves relocated. She was a firsthand witness of the results of one particular negotiation, as she was the one who mended the bones and broken skulls. Those werewolves were wild. She wasn't sure what it meant, and she didn't want to discover.

Hermione put her basket on the plush moss carpet and started picking the struggling-to-survive–in-the-cold sturdy little flowers. The basket was made to preserve the herbs by drying them without additional magical interference, which was good because Hermione still hadn't managed to grasp the concept of wandless magic and didn't want to brandish her wand.

Her basket was half full when she moved to another slope but froze mid-promenade. She turned around sharply but saw not a shadow of a person whose voice she likely imagined.

Hermione carefully cut the next stem when it happened again, this time more clearly.

" _Hermiiiiioneee…"_

She straightened. A few young boys gave her bewildered looks and turned their faces over the knoll ahead.

"HERMIONEEEEE!"

The flowers slipped from her lax fingers, her hands lifting the skirts instead and she rushed past the surprised students toward the bare slope of the hill.

"We are to stay together, girl!" Rowena informed her crisply, but Hermione didn't hear her.

She climbed the hill, tripping over the hem of her dress in haste and halted when she reached the top, gazing at the smooth contours of wilted meadow stretching for miles ahead. That would be the future Hogsmeade ahead, she thought vaguely.

" _Hermiiioneeee!"_

She turned left, her eyes sharpening on two distant male figures, standing lengths apart and looking around.

The closest to her wore an emerald jacket or… sweater… which reminded her of…

"Harry…" she whispered dumbfounded.

The figures were walking away, but then the second man abruptly turned and went still.

Hermione stared, her legs slowly starting to move on their own accord. From the other side, Ron Weasley broke into a run.

"Mione!" she heard him shouting desperately and finally got control over her body, willing it to move faster. "Run to me! Run, Mione! RUN!"

Hermione dashed toward her friends, comprehending nothing, her dazed and panicked mind shutting down and focusing solely on Ron's voice. She screamed when her dress got caught and she fell, her lungs seizing from sudden lack of air. She raised her head and saw her two friends crossing the meadow at the lightning speed, running toward her.

"Harry! Grab her!" Ron shouted as Harry ran at his utmost speed. "Hermione! RUN! Take his hand! TAKE HIS HAND!"

Hermione scrambled to her feet half-running through it. Tears obscured her vision, turning the world into a blurred mass of light and color. But she saw Harry… and Ron behind him, and pushed forward as if her life depended on it. And it certainly did.

"Get her, Harry!" Ron's desperation couldn't nudge them further. Dashing through the knee-length grass, Harry was almost there. She saw his hand shooting out to grasp her outstretched palm and…

Hermione lunged forward, throwing herself into his arms… but went right through him. She stumbled, her heart nearly stopping. In frenzy, she hurled herself back on her feet and turned, only to catch a wisp of thin mist where Harry was standing. He was gone.

Wide-eyed, Hermione spun around, frantically searching and hoping to catch a glimpse of another dear face, but Ron too was gone.

"Ron? Harry?" Hermione called out, running helter-skelter searching and crying out at the top of her lungs. "Where are you?!"

Trees rustling and the wind howling through the Black forest were the only replies she got until the sun set and she was left on her own.

A thick fog came down on Highland, concealing Hogwarts in its mysterious cloak, and still she sat there waiting, feeling desolate and heartbroken.

Strong hands grabbed her shoulders and cautiously lifted her from the ground. Hermione dropped her chin and bit her trembling lip; her eyes burning but still painfully dry. She resisted the hold, shoving hard at the intruder, but was pulled into his warm chest instead, familiar scent hitting her nose and strong arms curling around her waist in a vice grip. Still she struggled, refusing to give in, reluctant to expose her weakness, but was subdued by his strength and silky serpentine murmur.

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, her fisted arms trembling at her sides, silent tears finally breaking out and pouring down her cheeks, as her bleeding heart wept. And he still held her. Through the misery and dejection, the one and only witness of her crumbling and surrendering to pain.

Salazar Slytherin.


End file.
